People often commented on Kyrie, usually about how sweet and pure she was. But she was't as pure as they thought, she felt desire and often wished to act on it. However, the one she desired, the one she loved, valued her as a beloved sister and friend. As if to spit in her face, the gods had, at some point, brought her Love's own Love into his life. The ironic thing was, the one the he loved was the man who helped him save her. How could she hate the man who had helped her Love?
She wanted to, in fact, you could say she desired it. But while Kyrie envied him, oh how she envied him, she couldn't hate the man that made her Love happy and whole. He made her Love alive and passionate like how she had wanted to. It was then that her Love's eyes turned to her, looking hopeful but seeming almost sad. She wanted to laugh then, her Love wasn't even aware that he loved him and not her. Kyrie could take him, but her eyes teared up at the thought that she couldn't have him, not truly.
Frantic, her Love asked what was wrong. She almost told him the truth, she almost let him see how, by being so naive, he was crushing her heart. But then she thought, I could lie and tell him something else. Something to hurt him so he'll run into his Love's arms. At least then I can see him happy, even if it won't be because of me. In a way, I'll repay him my life for his happiness and he'll never know. Better to see him happy with another, than to watch him waste away in her arms.
"I'm so sorry Nero, but I don't think that we'll work out. I-I've been working on it, but how could our relationship work out if I still fear you arm? I really am sorry." His eyes showed hurt, and Kyrie cried some more, looking as sorry as she felt, if only because of her lie. Because her heart screamed in pain. After a few minutes, Nero did something he'd never done, he carefully brushed his lips over her forehead before backing away. A tear slid down his face and he turned and ran from the church.
For almost an hour, Kyrie stood motionless, her eyes blank as tears slid down her face. Then with a soft cry, she crumbled to her knees, her brown eyes fixed on the exit, staring listlessly after Nero. Choking on her tears, she stood and staggered home, bitterly wishing that Nero hadn't cried, that he hadn't kissed her forehead like he would a child. But mostly that he hadn't cried.
"I'm so sorry, Nero."